


A Bit of Garden

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:21:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26528158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by TelcontarIt is a time of renewal in the Shire, and Sam is in a giving mood.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Kudos: 7
Collections: Least Expected





	A Bit of Garden

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: Middle Earth, its inhabitants, & sub-creation et al: JRR Tolkien's.  
> Story: Product of my most unnatural curiousity. Doing this is payment enough!  
> Feedback:I'm always hungry: feed me! It's greatly appreciated!

> "...'What did you blush for, Sam?' said Pippin. ...Answered Sam,'..I felt as if I hadn't anything on...She seemed to be looking inside me and asking me what I would do if she gave me the chance of flying back home to the Shire to a nice little hole with-with a bit of garden of my own..."

The Mirror of Galadriel, The Fellowship of the Ring, LOTR.

> "...The little silver nut he planted in the Party Field where the tree had once been; he wondered what would become of it. All through the winter he remained patient as he could, and tried to restrain himself from going round constantly to see if anything was happening..."

The Grey Havens, The Return of the King, LOTR

{BAG END, THE SHIRE, 5 April, 1420.}

Frodo Baggins stood at the round doorway of Bag End, the bright green door propped open to catch the April breezes. He was watching the sunset off to the left, over the flower gardens where Sam was finishing his work. Even now, Sam insisted on mantaining the gardens at Bag End. Since he had returned after weeks of replanting trees, he had spent more time in the gardens than out of them. But after the weeks of Sam's coaxings, Bag End was bursting in a riot of colors. Frodo drew in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of early flowers. A sudden peace stole across Frodo, a settling feeling that had been aluding him for some time.

With a tenderness that belied his round form, Sam placed a small seedling into the flowerbed, gently spreading the roots and cupping the tender shoot in his brown hand. With the other hand he filled in the spot with soil, smoothing it down and patting it expertly. "There, then. That's the last of them," he said, straightening and brushing his hands together to shake off the dirt. He reached for the watering can. "Should have done this in the morning, but a bit of water now won't harm them, I think." Sam gave a small chuckle, smiling. "I daresay there's nothing that could harm 'em, or any plant in the Shire. I've never seen things grow like this in all my time gardenin', and the Gaffer says the same for him."

"Well, you can take some credit for that, Sam. The Lady's gift has been well-used." It was true; the whole Shire, which had appeared so desolate when they had first returned from their journeys abroad, was now a shimmering jewel of new growth. It seemed the grass had never been greener, or the flowers smell as sweet, or the crops so plentiful. And the trees had re-appeared, planted by Sam as he rode the length and breath of the Shire, replacing those uprooted by the Ruffians and Saruman's vengeful destruction. How the trees had grown! It certainly was Elven magic at work, for no tree grew so quickly. Below, in the grassy area in front of Bag End, Frodo could make out the faint pale sight of a silver sapling, its crown a pale leafy green mass of flower buds. Sam had planted it there to replace the Party tree, the massive oak tree that had been wontonly hacked down. It was a mallorn tree, from the forest of Lothlorien, and it seemed to reach toward the sky as if eager to embrace the Stars.

Bands of color washed over the sky, and the Sun blushed a sleepy orange as it set. Sam's curls glinted and Frodo's skin shone like gold in the fading warm light. "It was lovely seeing Merry and Pippin again," Frodo remarked, strolling up the garden path after Sam, who was making his way toward the kitchen garden for a last look before going inside. The orderly rows were tidy and well-rooted, and the tender vegetables and first berries were already ripening. Sam nodded, satisfied. There's always work for a gardener in Spring and Summer, and his efforts were being well-rewarded. "It was nice having us all together again for a time," he agreed. "We've been so busy lately, what with repairing the Shire's hurts and all, it was good to have some time for enjoying it. Bad End is looking well."

"Quite well," said Frodo, smiling. "With the place cleaned out and all the things from Crickhollow in place, it seems like home again. You know, it was kind of Lobelia to give back Bag End." Frodo laughed. "I never thought I'd say that! But it seemed she was quite changed at the end. I'm glad to see that feud finished."

"All's well as end's well, as the Gaffer says," put in Sam. "And Lobelia saw what spite can do on a grander scale, if you understand me, and that's what I say turned her sweet in the end. She never did get over Lotho, but at least some good came out of it all. Everything's put back the way it was."

"Better than the way it was. I can't think of many ways to improve Bag End, Sam, but the plumbing is a treasure." Bag End and the re-built Bagshot Row had been re-lined with bricks from the Sherriff-houses, and as a special gift, the eager residents of Hobbiton had set in water pipes. A shiny copper vat had been set in the bricks behind the kitchen oven and linked to the well in the pantry behind the wall. With a few draws on the pump and the fire lit in the oven, they had water for bathing and washing, and hot water at that. It had made the cleaning of Bag End much swifter and more pleasant, and it was a blessing to soak away the labors of the day while the scent of soup made its way along the hall. Merry and Pippin had been delighted, and talked a great deal about installing something similar at Crickhollow.

Merry and Pippin had ridden up on the twenty-third of March with several wagons loaded with Frodo's posessions from Crickhollow. Sam had come back from his foresting two days later, and they had stayed up talking until dawn. Looking at all of his friends laughing and joking in the firelight had lighten Frodo's heart, and it had so needed it. It had been just a few days before that one of his moods had overtaken him once again, but he was glad that it had passed quickly, and he made Farmer Cotton promise not to mention it to Sam. And there they were, like they had been in childhood, together once more in Bag End. How much can change in so short a time! He was glad that the Shire seemed not to mark the twenty-fifth with any formality; it seemed more Hobbit-like not to, somehow; although he thought that there must be quite a celebration in Gondor. Frodo's thoughts went to Minas Tirith, to Aragorn and Legolas and Gimli, even to Faramir in Ithilien. He wondered where Gandalf was, and wished with hope that it was in Rivendell with Bilbo.

Merry and Pippin had stayed a fortnight, and had ridden away the day before back to Buckland and Crickhollow where they were living. It had been earlier that morning that Frodo realised with a start that tomorrow would be Sam's birthday. He wondered if Sam even remembered in all the rush. Frodo had hidden away the cake and special food and wine he had purchased for a small celebration in one of the pantries; no easy job it had been, too, and he had hoped the day's weather would be just as perfect as today had been so they could picnic.

Sam opened the door by the garden, carrying the empty watering can, Frodo following him in. He sniffed. "You've been baking," he remarked to Frodo.

"Well, we needed more bread," Frodo replied. "And I wanted to have the water hot. You first, Sam; you're caked in dirt."

"I'm not!" Sam protested, smiling. There was a long dirty smudge across his right cheek, and all up his arms and legs. "And you're one to talk, covered with flour and dust and all."

Frodo grinned. "Go on, then!" he said, leading Sam to the bath. "Go start. I've got to mind the oven." Frodo went off down the hall to shut the front door and finish the baking.

Sam had bathed, drained the bathwater and was re-filling the tub when Frodo slipped into the room. Carelessly Frodo peeled off his clothes, dropping them in an untidy mess in the willow basket by the basin. "Mind you don't slip on the tiles," Sam warned. "They're still damp."

Frodo watched the curve of Sam's tanned back in the lamplight. "I will."

Sam straightened, giving the bath water a gentle swirl with his fingers. "It's a marvel, having hot water when you want it." He glanced back at Frodo, waving his hand over the tub. "Your turn," he said.

Frodo sighed with pleasure as he lowered himself into the water. How many times on the road had he longed for a good bath? For a long moment he simply sat, savoring the warmth of the water and the steam wafting from the surface onto his skin. He felt rich.

"You just soak there a bit," Sam said, tightening the towel around his middle. "I'm going for something to drink."

"Some for me, too," Frodo called. "Just bring it along in here!"

Frodo had already scrubbed and rinsed his hair clean when Sam returned with two mugs. Sam drew up a stool and handed one of the mugs to Frodo. They both drank deep, and Frodo gave a satisfied sigh. "This is what I long for, Sam; moments like these; simple things. The smell of fresh baked bread, cool ale, warm bath water..." Frodo looked up, his eyes a-glitter. "...and friends with whom to share it."

Sam blushed, taking another long pull on his mug. Absently he dipped a finger in the water, watching the ripples. "That's all the things I hoped for, when we were out there, you know," he said. "We've seen a lot of things and know a lot of high and mighty people, but this is what suits Hobbits best, I think."

"Um-hm," Frodo murmured, resting his arms over the edge of the tub and laying back. "And you've done such a job of it, Sam! The Shire is beautiful again. I hope you are stopping to enjoy it while you're keeping busy."

" 'Course I am. The work just makes it sweeter. And what of you, Mr Frodo? Rosie said that you were keeping busy yourself, acting as Mayor and handing out funds to the poor Hobbits that need it, and writing things down. Are you enjoying it?"

"I'm enjoying this," Frodo said. "I keep busy. Now that I'm back in Bag End I feel comfortable again, certainly. Not to belittle the kindness of the Cottons, of course," he added, drinking the last of his ale. Sam took the mug from him and set it beside his own. Frodo sat up, sending the water swirling in eddies around him. "I should finish up my washing," he said, pulling up the washcloth. "Sam, could you reach the soap?"

Sam handed over the sweet-smelling bar and watched as Frodo worked a lather into the cloth. Frodo had fleshed out a lot over the months, but he had always been thinner and more graceful than the average Hobbit, and Sam could still see the signs of Frodo's ordeal in his wiry frame. Frodo lifted his arm, and Sam could see the sliver path of the whip-weal scar trace its way across his side, from ribs to hip. Sam had a small catch in his throat at the sight of that ugly thing on Frodo's pale marble skin, marring the smoothness of it. Without thought he reached out to touch it, as if he could pluck it off of the flesh. Tears, ever quick to appear in his eyes, misted his vision.

Frodo caught his hand gently. "Sam," he said, his voice soft. "Don't blame yourself. I know it's hard-if anyone knows how hard it is, it is I-but for tonight, at least, let's set those things aside." His eyes stared into Sam's, begging. "Please?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Alright then, Mr Frodo, if that's what you want. It's just that I wish I could, well, take that away somehow. Seems out of place with all the growing around us."

Frodo felt a sudden wave of emotion roll over him. He still held Sam's warm brown hand in his damp one, and he leaned forward to fill his sight with Sam's face. Sam was so lovely with the expression he wore; the look he had of wistfulness and concern that played across his weather-tanned face. His eyes were a calm moss green flecked with copper, and Frodo fell into their warm light as he kissed Sam full on his generous mouth.

Sam reached up and caressed the wet mass of Frodo's dark curls, and kissed him back. Frodo drank him in, the small point of his tongue licking out between Sam's teeth, crushing his petal soft lips against Sam's mouth. Sam slipped forward off the stool and felt the solidity of the tiled floor beneath his knees hold him.

Slowly the long kisses gave way to short, quick ones, Frodo and Sam nuzzling the sides of each others'necks. Frodo pulled back, his face flushed with desire and eyes a blazing blue. "I suppose I'm finished here," he said, reaching for a towel.

Sam let out a small laugh as Frodo stepped out of the tub. "I'd say we're just beginning, from the looks of you," he said, getting to his feet.

Frodo tossed back his head and laughed, the sound ringing like bells over the tiles. Playfully he reached out and snatched the towel from around Sam. "So are you, Samwise Gamgee." Sam let out a cry at the sudden exposure, and Frodo gave out another merry laugh. Tossing aside the towels, he shot out the door, Sam racing behind.

Frodo dashed into the best bedroom, leaping onto the bed feet first. The covers billowed up around him, engulfing him in quilts and summer down. Yelping and giggling, he flipped over, wrestling with Sam over the top of the bed. Sam pinned him, grasping him in his arms in a hug. Frodo smiled and reached upward, locking Sam in a deep kiss, his belly still quivering with laughter. Soon the gasping and laughing became a low purring deep in his throat, as they entwined together, sweet-scented skin rubbing against clean muscle. Frodo ran his hand across Sam's chest, savoring the feel of the brown downy hair there, and ran his delicate fingers over the hard nipples. Sam shivered, the ache between his legs spiking sharply. He could feel Frodo's hardness there, by his hip, and he moved forward, pressing against it. Frodo groaned, grabbing at Sam's shoulders.

Pushing himself up, Sam slid down, his hands running across Frodo's belly and over the hipbones to his thighs. With a gentle push he spread them apart, fondling the silky skin over the trembling hardness between them. Leaning down he took Frodo in his mouth, gliding his tongue over the pulsing member, holding him steady with his lips. Frodo gave a small cry, one hand grabbing at the covers and the other woven in Sam's hair. Sam moved in a gentle sway, breathing in the scent of him, savoring sounds of Frodo's pleasure, sucking as sure as a babe at the breast, surrounded by all the comfort of his rapid heartbeat. With one hand he reached down and held himself, waves of heat radiating upward. Time moved with the slowness of mountain ice.

Frodo beat on the covers with a fist, his body arching in ecstacy. His breath bursting from him in shaky gasps, he bucked, straining against Sam, and then gave a high-pitched moan as he released himself. In a hoarse voice, he panted, "Ai, Elbereth! T-that was..." He lost the words, drawing Sam upward. "Oh, Sam! Sam!" he said, reaching out and embracing him in his arms.

Sam leaned over and lightly bit Frodo's earlobe. "I haven't forgotten it's my birthday tomorrow," he whispered in his ear, "And I'd say it's almost late enough to be tomorrow. Like my present to you, do you?"

"Oh, yes!" Frodo dropped one hand down, feeling him, then shifted from under Sam. "Sam, I want you," he said suddenly. "I want you in me."

The ache was cruel in him now, but Sam hesitated. "Now? But-"

"Yes, now!" Frodo demanded. "I need to feel you there, Sam. I need you to fill me with your light and heat and just the presence of you. Please, Sam, please give this to me!"

Sam groaned with thought of it, his desire nearly overwhelming him. "I don't want to hurt you, Frodo," he hissed.

Frodo rolled over, looking deeply into Sam's eyes. Sam could drown in those eyes, the depths of them, the passion in them. "You won't," he said simply. He reached over to the nightstand and poured a small pool of oil from the bottle there into his hand. With an agonizing silken touch, he rubbed it over Sam, working his fingers in slow circles.

Sam could hold back no longer. With all the will he had, he turned Frodo back over, and entered him slowly. Sweat burst over him as he felt the tight closeness encircle him, and he forced himself to push inward gently, feeling the the tip of him press up against the hard nob inside Frodo. He pulled Frodo back against him, one hand gripping the so-smooth hips against him, the other stroking Frodo's writhing back. "Frodo," he called out, as if to hold on to the name as a talisman. "Frodo!"

"Ah, Sam!" groaned Frodo. "Sam! Fill me, Sam! Plant yourself deep within me!"

Sam felt the rush of his lust throbbing in his blood, could barely contain himself as he thrust forward. He reached his hand beneath Frodo's hip, cupping him as gently as he had cupped the seedling before. Frodo arched up against him, moving in the same frantic rhythm. In the heat of it Sam saw Frodo's skin as white as the bark of the mallorn tree, the pulse of Frodo's blood coursing through his veins like roots thirsting for water, hungering for sunlight and warmth, and Sam could sense again the scent of Lorien, the perfume of pale niphradil springing up with every footstep. He felt clothed in Elven starlight. He could not hold back and in a torrent burst, his body and Frodo's so tightly pressed together that there seemed to be no boundry between their flesh.

Frodo screamed, and Sam was for a moment afraid, afraid he had crossed that point where pleasure became pain, when Frodo would slip into the tortured nightmares that haunted him. But it was not a scream of pain or horror pouring forth from Frodo, but one of triumph, of joy and amazement, and of gratitude and relief.

Pulling himself back, Sam rocked on his knees, every fibre of him thrumming with the sparks of his spent passion. Frodo collasped forward, crying into the pillows, tears flowing over his face, overwhelmed. "Oh, Sam! Oh, Sam!" he sobbed over and over. "I love you so, Sam!"

Sam stretched out next to Frodo, flicking a stray curl away from his forehead. "I love you too, Frodo." There were no words to say. Sam felt like singing, but no tune came to mind. "Here, then, Frodo, rest now." He gathered Frodo into his arms, and in that way they both fell asleep.

Frodo awoke first, the dawn light shining through the bedroom window and alighting over the fireplace mantle. Quietly he slipped from the bed, out of Sam's embrace. Wetting his face and hands in the basin near the door, he gently washed the sweat away. Taking up the small cloth next to the basin, he wet and rung it out, washing away the remains of the night's lovemaking. He slipped a silken tunic over his body, and wrapped a robe of the same material around him. Silently he padded down the hallway to the kitchen, gathering up the dishes and cutlery he wanted for Sam's birthday breakfast. Across the hall in the dining room he set out the place settings, and was setting out the teacups when he looked out the window. With a loud cry he dropped a teacup to the floor, where it shattered. He raced into the hallway, still yelling, rushing for the front door.

Sam exploded from the bedroom, yanking on his nightshirt in a wild struggle.

"What is it?" he yelled. "Frodo, what happened?"

Frodo yanked open the front door. "The Tree," Frodo gasped, "The mallorn! It's on fire!"

Horrified, Sam bolted after Frodo as they raced down the path. The tree below was a mass of flaming yellow, glowing and undulating in the wind. It was only as the Hobbits raced forward, they realised there was no smell of burning, nor any smoke rising from the Party Field. They both drew up sharply before the sapling. But it was not so small a sapling now. It had nearly doubled in size, growing with Elven magic under the Starlight straight and strong. The ivory white bark shone like mother-of-pearl in the dawn, and atop it, what Frodo had mistook for flame was a crown of golden bright flowers, gleaming and glittering more brightly than ever a King's treasured hoard.

"Sam..." Frodo whispered. Reaching out, he placed his small right hand on the glistening trunk, fingers splayed, the gap where the third finger once was standing out against the bark. He looked up at the golden canopy. "...it's beautiful!"

Sam blinked back tears once more. The sight of Frodo clad in elven silk with such wonder on his face beneath the mallorn tree, the tree he had planted with his own hand, grown from the seed he had carried all through Mordor, the gift of the Lady Galadriel, was a sight that nearly broke his gentle heart. He didn't think he could hold such beauty within him. In that moment, Sam felt that surely he had been blessed with Elven grace, for time stood still once more, and long after he would remember that vision of the Shire's renewal. It was the the first day of the Elven New Year, and his birthday, and nearly a year to the day when he awoke to the sight of Frodo and Gandalf alive in Ithilien, and not in his wildest hopes could he had wished for this.


End file.
